The Silver Transformer
by Isoldriel
Summary: Years after the Amber Spyglass, Lyra has launched the Aurora Station, a mysterious joint project of Jordan College and St. Sophia's that has the potential to change the world as her daughter Sylvia is faced with the decision of a lifetime. Reviews Please!
1. The First Attempt

**Foreword**

The First Attempt

The lone building in the hilly snow-blanketed landscape rose out of the ground suddenly; no effort had been made at all to integrate the building in color or in architecture into its surroundings. Its exterior had been made of polished black marble and above two solid iron doors were the words _Aurora Research and Experimentation Station_, spelled out in brass letters. Below this read _Jordan__College_ _and __St.__Sophia__College__Oxford_ This was the original research center, unequaled in this world, of metaphysical particles. Its bare exterior gave an aura of sophistication and quiet concentration. This far north, it could only be reached in July and August, snowed in for the rest of the year.

A side door in the side of the building creaked open. For a moment, nobody appeared, but then, a woman covered in furs stepped out, carrying what appeared to be a fur sack. The unknown entity walked briskly forward, and none of the many people watching her had any idea where she was going.

All of a sudden, she stopped. She looked around, as if surveying the area. Apparently satisfied that this was indeed the spot she'd been going to, she nodded and set her fur sack down, quickly undoing its ties. The sack fell open to reveal a strange looking device, a metal box with several knobs and engraved with the letters L.S. Sharp intakes of breath came from every single man in the surrounding hills, for this device was the reason they were here. This was the reason they'd been ordered to wait in the freezing hills for hours, this was the reason they'd spent weeks observing the station, this was the reason they were to murder the woman, for the device had powers too great, far too great to be allowed to remain in the world, and its creator, ignorantly unaware of the danger she posed to the world, had to be exterminated before she could go on to do any more damage.

The woman carefully brushed off the dust on the device, then raised two antennae that had been folded into the device. She bent them at their joints until they became right angles, and extended them until they formed an open box two feet wide and three feet tall. Standing back, she turned a silver knob and waited.

Scattered through the hills, the hidden men tensed their muscles, ready to attack if the plan did not work, for some fifteen meters south of the woman, two men were tweaking their own device, which was nearly ready. This one was much bigger than the L.S. device, and a large satellite protruded from it, aimed directly at the device. If they had not been behind a hill, their plan would never have worked, for it was too big to conceal otherwise.

As it was, the woman couldn't see the device, or she would never have done what she did next. The space between the two antennae crackled and flashed, until it at last formed a green veil of light. Faint outlines of grass and cattle could be soon in the light, but there was nothing on the opposite side of the veil but snow. A small marten poked its head out of her coat and raised its head to her ear, as if saying something to her. The woman nodded as if she'd heard, and stepped into the veil of light.

For a moment it seemed as if nothing had happened or would happen, but as she remained in the light, still visible from where she'd stepped into it, a current of energy so powerful that it could be seen as ripples in the air roared through the freezing air. Had it hit the woman, it would have killed her instantly, leaving the machine intact. Instead, it slammed into the machine, with a massive flash of white light. A moment later, all that could be seen was a large hole in the snow, at the bottom of which sat the machine, smoking slightly but otherwise seemingly unharmed, in a pool of water. The woman and the marten had vanished.

It was several moments before anyone could overcome the shock that the anbaric current's impact had created in the air – the very air seemed charged with energy, and so it was several moments before all the hidden men gathered around the snowy well. They stood there stupidly, none of them anxious to touch the smoking device, afraid of what it could do. They exchanged glances, each waiting for another to take it. They were all too busy contemplating the device and who would take it to notice anything else, and none of the men heard the wing beats above until the shadow of a large bird fell upon them. By the time the man closest to the device could react, a goose swooped down out of the sky and snatched up the device in its bill, flying back the way it had come.


	2. St Sophia's

**Chapter I**

St. Sophia's

It was late afternoon. The streets of Oxford were full of the shouts and yells of street children as they played at their games. It was safe to play now, most of the aristocrats and high-ranking people were indoors preparing for supper. Before this time every day, the street children migrated to different streets – this part of the city was full of those who did not care to be disturbed by dirty little street urchins, and most buildings were aristocrats' mansions.

There was but one building that did not shout of wealth. Unlike its neighbors, it was built of brick, not marble or stone. No gate surrounded its yard, and no guards stood by its doors. Inside, servants bustled around getting supper ready for the many girls there, for the building housed a boarding school, run by Madame Therese, overseen by Dame Hannah and her college – St. Sophia's. Loud chatter could be heard as far as the next building from one of the upstairs parlors.

"What'd you say you heard Dame Hannah saying to the Jordan Master after lunch, Lydie?" asked an excited voice.

"Not much – just they were planning an expedition of sorts," replied a sly voice, the speaker seemingly concentrating on her embroidery, her daemon perched on her shoulder in owl form.

The room broke out into excited chattering whispers, all embroidery forgotten for the moment. A few years ago, the two schools, St. Sophia's and Jordan College, had started a massive project, and the word 'expedition' made all the girls' minds leap to that one mysterious project. One girl, her daemon formed as a great blue butterfly, voiced the thought in everyone's minds, saying excitedly, "Perhaps it's to do with the Aurora Station!"

"I doubt it, Marie," remarked a relatively plump girl with an air that suggested that her doubts were sure to be correct. "There hasn't been a new research crew sent down there since the station was established."

"Come now, Isolde," sighed Marie, her butterfly daemon changing into a moth and landing on her shoulder. "You've no taste for excitement. Just because they've not sent a research crew there doesn't mean they won't send one now. After all, the theologians can't live there forever."

The girl called Isolde sniffed disdainfully, her wolf daemon twitching his ears. "Of course they won't live there forever, Christine, but they'll be there till they finish their research, en't it so, Sylvia?" She addressed the girl sitting by the window, who had until now remained out of the conversation, her embroidery sitting untouched in her lap as she stared out the window. "Well?" prodded Isolde, eager to have her knowledge confirmed. "You ought to know I'm right, at least. My father's part of the crew, and it was your mother as started the station."

Sylvia sighed inwardly. How she hated to confirm what Isolde said! The simpering girl was always flattering important people, seeking information, and always lorded her knowledge over the others. She glanced around at the others. They were all looking at her expectantly, and she had the feeling that some of them were pleading with her to contradict Isolde. The simple-minded noble girl had a reputation for being an irritation.

"Well, some of the crew are going to be visiting soon," said Sylvia, glad she had the example needed to prove Isolde wrong. "And besides, Mama always comes around this time every year. A message came through the Gallivespian radio device yesterday, and Madame told me this morning. So the research crew won't stay there till they've finished whatever it is they're doing."

"Well, _my _father will stay there until the mission is completed," said Isolde, with an annoyingly superior air. "After all, the Aurora Station _is_ one of the most important projects ever established, and he's not going to just ditch the project in the middle."

"My mother wouldn't be 'ditching the project in the middle,'" replied Sylvia, severely irritated. "And just so you know, Madame says that it's just Tusenov, Dancevic, and Garant who are coming. Mama won't be coming, for some reason. They're in need of supplies, so it seems."

"But why couldn't they have just sent word to have the supplies shipped up there?" asked Lydie, genuinely curious. "That's what they normally do, isn't it?"

"I'm not sure," admitted Sylvia. "Maybe they need something special, to tell the colleges themselves." This made sense to everyone, who nodded, with the exception of Isolde, who remained silent with an air of muted discontent.

A knock on the door made everyone look up as Madame Therese entered the room. "Supper's ready, girls," she said. "Have you all been embroidering since afternoon classes ended?" she inquired, her gaze travelling from Lydie's neat and pretty rose to Isolde's cross-stitch of the boarding school building to Sylvia's untouched needle and threads.

"Sylvia," she said, "We can't interest you in embroidery, I see. Will we ever be able to interest you in sewing at all?"

"But I _can_ sew!" protested Sylvia, "But there en't much point to learning embroidery, en't there? I'm not going to have to make things all prim and frilly when I become a Scholar, will I?"

Madame Therese sighed. "Of course, Sylvia," she said, "but embroidery is not a bad skill to learn, and it may teach you to harness all your extra thoughts and discipline your mind."

"Now you sound like Mama," said Sylvia. "She's always talking about Dust and thoughts and consciousness."

There was a moment, the smallest part of a second, where Sylvia thought she saw Madame Therese twitch and her robin daemon flitted about on her shoulder for a moment, but it was gone before she'd taken note of it. "Do I?" asked Madame Therese. "Perhaps it's because I taught her for so long."

"Perhaps," was all that Sylvia said. To her daemon, Corinthiael, she muttered. "Did you see that?"

"See what?" asked Corinthiael, slipping out from behind her loose blond hair in mouse form.

"Never mind," said Sylvia. Perhaps she'd only imagined it – yet for some reason the robin daemon still seemed disturbed, cocking his head strangely and eyeing the room.

"Well, in any case," said Madame Therese brightly, "Supper's ready. Wash up and come down when you're ready!"

Sylvia stood up reluctantly after folding her embroidery materials in a cloth. She didn't know why she even bothered to take out her embroidery anymore – she'd long ago stopped attempting to concentrate on it. Putting the cloth in her bag, she followed the rest of the girls out of the room.

At supper, Sylvia sat with the rest of the girls, eventually deciding it would be better to join in the discussion about the expedition than to let their chatter fill her ears. The Aurora Station was well known by all the children in any of the many schools in Oxford to be the most secretive station ever, more secretive even than the General Oblation Board had been while it existed, and was therefore a natural focal point of many children's imaginings.

"What do you think they _do_ up there?" asked Marie. "They've never let any of their secrets escape."

"Isn't it obvious?" said Isolde. "They research the aurora. Why else would it be called the Aurora Research and Experimentation Station?"

"And you _would_ know all about it, Isolde," said Sylvia a trifle nastily. "Since they haven't released the subject of their research or any results since they built the station three years ago."

"Still, the name makes it obvious enough," said Isolde.

"If it were just the aurora, they wouldn't be so quiet about it, would they?" Lydie pointed out. "I heard a rumor that they might be trying to re-bridge the gap between the worlds, like Lord Asriel did when he blasted the hole in our world to another."

"What if we _could_ get to other worlds?" prodded Marie. "What other worlds are there?"

"Well," said Sylvia, "There's one just like ours, Mama said." She thought back to the stories Mama had told her when she was little.

"_Tell me about Will again," said Sylvia. "Tell me about the mulefa, and Dr. Malone, and all the other worlds." In the memory, Sylvia was no more than six or seven years old, sitting in her mother's lap._

"_Well," said Lyra, "Will and Dr. Malone's world, like I told you, is just like ours. They have cars, and they have an Oxford just like this one. There's a Botanic Garden just like ours, so sometimes I go to our Botanic Garden just to remember what it was like."_

"_And to sit on that bench, right Mama?"_

"_Yes, Sylvie, because in Will's world there's a bench exactly like that, and when I sit there, I can remember Will."_

"_Do you still love him, Mama?"_

_Lyra's daemon, Pantalaimon curled himself around her neck as she replied. "Yes, Sylvie. One day, you'll be able to meet him, Sylvie. One day, I promise."_

"_And his daemon? Tell me about his daemon! You said there weren't any daemons in that world, didn't you? How did he have a daemon again?"_

"_He found Kirjava after we came out of the land of the dead," said Lyra, "And she settled at the same time Pan did. She's a cat, a beautiful cat. She fits Will perfectly – her fur is so… it's like the night sky, and the shadows in the moonlight, and the darkness at the bottom of the sea. People in his world _do_ have daemons, they just can't see them."_

The memory broke off there, and Sylvia continued telling the girls what Mama had told her. "Another world, just like ours, only the people can't see their daemons. They're there, but they can't see them. And then there's another world, where there are giant creatures called the mulefa, who ride on wheels that come from trees, and –" She stopped, realizing that everyone, even Isolde, was hanging on to her every world.

"And?" prompted Lydie.

"And they can see Dust, and they make an oil that let Dr. Malone in that other world create the Amber Spyglass."

"What's that?" asked Lydie.

"It's – " Sylvia began, then stopped. What was she doing? She'd never told any of this before, she'd never seen the reason to show off her knowledge, as Isolde was always doing. Then she looked at Lydie. The intelligent girl _wanted _to know, wanted to know the history of why the Aurora Station had been set up, wanted to know what exactly had made Sylvia's mother so famous, wanted to hear the truth, or as close to it as she could get, from her friend Sylvia's lips. And it was then that Sylvia realized that she'd done a disservice to Lydie all these years that she'd been Sylvia's roommate by not speaking of it. She looked to Marie, then to Isolde – Marie was a nice girl, but her mind rarely left the present, most exciting thing, and she never thought about the _why_ of things, but accepted them without question. She didn't see a need to know, but listened politely because Sylvia was telling a story. Then there was Isolde, who was carefully committing everything Sylvia said to memory to re-tell it to the other girls.

"It's just this thing," said Sylvia off-handedly, giving Lydie a meaningful look. "I'm not sure." As Marie and Isolde resumed their chatter, Sylvia dropped her voice and muttered to Lydie, "If you want to hear the whole story, I'll tell you up in our room after dinner."

Lydie nodded and jumped back into the conversation as if she'd been listening the whole time. Sighing, Sylvia thought about Lydie. If there was someone Sylvia admired almost as much as her mother, it was Lydie. She was so good with people, always knowing exactly what to do in any given situation. Her manners were impeccable; she always knew exactly when to stop before she went too far in pursuing a topic. Reflecting on this, Sylvia realized that this was probably why Lydie had never asked her about her mother's stories before – Sylvia normally tried to live as she would without knowing such things, and didn't speak of them for fear of seeming as conceited as Isolde. Lydie's return to the conversation was another amazing skill that Lydie had – she could act as if nothing had happened so easily. Once, Sylvia remembered wryly, Lydie had been late to class and received a sound scolding from Madame later. Sylvia had been waiting for Lydie outside Madame's office, and Lydie had merely smiled and said that nothing much had happened, Madame had only asked her to help in the kitchens for a week as punishment. If Sylvia had half that ability, she would be proud.

In the evening, after dinner, Sylvia had meant to go directly to the room she shared with Lydie. Instead, she had to sit through the normal evening chatter. Sighing, Sylvia let her mind wander. She should have realized that Lydie would be too polite to break from the normal routine in order to go to what would seem an odd meeting. It was for the best, Sylvia thought, but now that she knew Lydie wanted to hear the stories, she wanted to tell them sooner rather than later. What, exactly, was there to tell? Mama had told them to her so many times that they seemed to be her own stories, her own past, and she'd never before actually thought about how much had happened in those stories. She mulled this over - there was first and foremost, the alethiometer. Then there was the knife, and Ci'gazze, Will's world, Dr. Malone and the spyglass, the land of the dead, and the mulefa. Oh yes, and the Gobblers and the cutting. Just thinking about it repulsed her. Thiael, feeling her disgust, turned into a panther and laid himself at her feet. "Don't forget the harpies," Corinthiael reminded her.

"I know, Thiael." said Sylvia quietly, so as not to attract attention. "Tell them stories," whispered Sylvia, thinking of what Mama had said to her over and over again. _Tell them stories, because they have the right to the truth, Mama said. And Lydie, she's like a harpy. She had a right to know the truth, she's earned it, and she earned it a long time ago. I owe her the truth._ Thiael was watching her, knowing exactly what she was thinking.

"Tell them stories," he echoed quietly.


End file.
